


Morning Sickness

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Morning Sickness, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: Request: finding out you're pregnant with Orlo's child.
Relationships: Orlo (The Great TV 2020)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Morning Sickness

You groaned as, once again, you awoke sick.

It had been impossible to keep your breakfast down of late, and more often than not you spent most of the morning with your head in a bucket. The meaning of your sickness was compounded by the other symptoms you had been experiencing, the lack of monthly blood, the headaches, the tenderness of your bosom.

You had known it to happen to your friends, knew the meaning of your body’s betrayal. You knew how your maids whispered, how they tried to subtly hint to you, kept alcohol out of your reach. Deep down, you had already accepted the truth. But it would disrupt things, unsettle your burgeoning relationship with the kindest man you had ever met, make you an outcast at the castle should this child not have a father.

Oh god, you were going to throw up again.

Then, the sound of footsteps outside, a distinctive tone calling from outside of your bedroom doors.

Damn.

“My love, did I leave my record keeping book here last night? I fear I have misplaced it yet again, and…”

Another wave of nausea caught you, and you threw your head into the bucket. You coughed, tears in your eyes as the voice got closer. The dry heaving was almost more unpleasant than the vomiting, you lamented, leaving your throat sore and your voice hoarse. You could not deal with Orlo today, and mentally cursed your staff for letting him wander in as he pleased. You had never before told them to stop him, you supposed.

“I am not dressed yet!” You called, not technically lying, as your nightgown clung to your body with sweat.

_Stay out!_ You wanted to call. _Do not see me like this_.

“I think we are past all that,” he laughed, pushing the door open.

You were quick to hide the pail, shoving it by the bedside as he waltzed in, checking his usual armchair and your dressing table for the book he had misplaced. You adjusted your nightgown as he searched, sensing the rush he was in from his near ignoring of you.

He finally found the misplaced records atop the mantlepiece, and turned to make a comment on it, when he noticed your appearance. One of his hands stabilised him on the fireplace as his eyes roamed your seated form, concern evident as he drew his eyebrows together.

“Good god, are you okay?”

“Fine. A little nauseous, is all.”

Orlo rushed over to you

“I think a flu, perhaps. Stay back.”

“I likely already have it, if it is a flu,” he smiled, and you found yourself irritated by his jovial tone. “So there is no further harm.”

He was correct. He had been in your bed two nights before, kissed you mere hours ago before, curled up together by your fireplace before he had been forced to leave, and attend a late dinner. Your attempts to keep him from seeing your morning sickness had been largely successful in creating a distance between yourself and the Count.

But you could not hide this forever.

“It is a rather vicious flu, if it has struck this quickly. I will get a doctor, before I head to –”

“No. Do not worry yourself, I will order for one myself!” You insisted. “Go.”

Perhaps you imagined the suspicion in his eyes, the way he looked up and down your body, as though it would reveal answers to him. You held your watch to his face, meeting his eyes when they returned to yours.

_Leave_ , you wanted to beg. _Leave me to my sorrow and nausea._

“I will be back,” he promised. “Perhaps later we could… pick up where we left things last night?”

You caught his insinuation, and wished you had the strength to flirt back. It was a joy, when he came out of his shell enough to attempt seduction with his words, a game the two of you could play, like a volley in tennis.

Not today.

“I may be forced to visit the ladies all day, my apologies.”

“Very well.”

*

A full week passed without much further time spent with Orlo, and your heart ached for him, even as your mind told you to create distance.

You had taken to concocting imaginary scenes at night, thinking on how Orlo might react to the news he was to become a father. He was fond of children; you knew. Always snuck sweets to the little tykes who ran around the halls, when he thought no one was looking. 

But fatherhood was a rather different ordeal.

A bastard child was a scandal, a burden, he might ask the child to be sent away, fostered by someone who would hide the true identity of the child. To have a child in wedlock, you might be trapping him, ensuring his resentment even if it secured a future for your child.

Would he believe it was his?

Would he care?

Your mind raced with every possibility: that he would reject you; that he might hide you away somewhere; pay you off; begrudgingly do the _noble thing_ and marry you. Each option brough its own pain, its own knife to your heart as you contemplated the future which lay ahead.

And the mere weeks you would have before he knew.

Distantly, there was a glimmer of hope. The fantasy which snuck up on you, in your dreams, taunted you.

_That he would be happy_.

It seemed impossible. You refused to allow yourself to hope like that. It would lead only to heartbreak.

You had been forced to keep him at arms’ length, the bump you fancied only imagining now growing noticeable enough that he might notice it beneath his hands. Headaches and flu symptoms had been enough to dissuade him from your company thus far, but on an innocent Sunday evening he strode into your apartment, unwilling to allow you to evade his affections any longer.

He had brought cheese, fine pastries, a book you might like, all tucked in the basket he carried. You knew you couldn’t turn him away this time.

“I have sorely missed your company,” he whined, as you tried to feign exhaustion, standing in the doorway to your apartment as he begged entry. “I want nothing more than time with you, I swear.”

He had done nothing wrong, you knew. He was being punished for a crime he was unaware of. You stepped aside, allowing him to peck you on the cheek as he set up his offerings beside the fire.

“I hope you like this! I have been saving it for you,” he declared, pulling your attention to him.

You broke your blank gaze from the corridor outside, closing the door with a _thud_ loud enough to rouse your attention from the daze you had fallen into. You suddenly snapped back to your body, mind still racing, as Orlo proudly showed you a box of brilliantly-pink coloured fudge he had acquired.

He sat in his usual spot, but nothing about this felt usual. You approached him like a condemned man approaching the gallows, hanging your head, reaching to take a piece of the sweet politely.

“Thank you,” you choked out, struggling to force your throat to make noises.

You put the fudge in your mouth, glad for an excuse not to speak as Orlo watched with excitement, keen for your opinion. The sweetness made an unbearable nausea rile up in your stomach, and you grit your teeth, begging your body not to vomit.

You would cry, you thought, if you were sick now.

“What do you think?”

“Hm?”

“It is good, isn’t it?” Orlo looked concerned, suddenly. “The fudge. I thought it would be to your taste.”

“Yes! Lovely. Thank you.”

Usually you would have loved it, you thought glumly.

_Orlo knew you so well._

You would miss nights like this, his excitement to be in your presence. You sat shakily, rejecting his offer of more fudge, staring into the fire for a second.

Opposite, the Count dejectedly returned the fudge to its basket, mirroring you as he stared down at the flames for just a second, before snapping his attention to you.

“Have I… done something wrong?”

You felt a pang of guilt. He had planned a nice evening, and you were ruining it. You wanted to kick yourself, begging your mind to let you enjoy just one more night with him, this sweet man, who had endured your distance and your sudden rejection of him. You could enjoy one more night, you told yourself. One more sweet evening together, as meticulously planned and thoughtfully arranged as usual. He never failed to delight you with the things he planned.

_Pull yourself together_ , you reminded yourself, _do not ruin Orlo’s evening as well as his life_.

“Of course not! Please excuse my dreadful manners.” You scrambled for an excuse, unable to meet his concerned gaze. “Apologies, I am… tired.”

“You are pregnant.”

Your jaw dropped, arms covering yourself defensively, as you looked away from Orlo. You couldn’t bear this. To lose him, like this. He had caught you lying, too. You were stupid, to believe you could hide this from a man so perceptive as Orlo.

“I’m sorry I… I was going to tell you I swear –”

“So it is true? You are pregnant?” He demanded.

You fought back tears, eyes downcast as you nodded.

“Mine, I presume?”

His tone was cautious, hiding some outburst, and it put you on edge.

“Of course!”

You suddenly struggled for breath as Orlo lunged at you, wrapping his arms around you, making you writhe as he… hugged you?

“Orlo…” you said his name breathlessly, feeling him suddenly let go.

He knelt in front of your chair hands reaching your you. There was a grin on his face unlike anything you had ever seen before, his rarely-worn glasses askew as he laughed breathlessly. He took you in like he had never seen you before, wonder and excitement on his face, and you found yourself unhunching to lean towards him cautiously.

Orlo spoke breathlessly, hands scrabbling at your skirts. He looked as though you had given him the very stars themselves.

“Sorry, I am so happy. I was worried you were seriously ill, or were feigning sickness because you wanted to leave me, and I… I could hardly dare to believe it when I consulted Doctor Chekov and he suspected the true source of your symptoms!”

You ought to pinch yourself, you supposed. To ensure this was not another cruel dream. And yet the weight of Orlo’s hand on your knees, the beam on his face, felt real enough to convince you.

“I thought you would hate me,” the shock had not yet left your system, and you looked down at him in amazement. “That’s why I hid. I was afraid you would leave me.”

His face dropped.

“Fuck, never. Please believe me, I have never been so in love. I’ll look after you, I swear it. Both of you.”

_Both of you_.

You couldn’t speak. The room was not silent for long, the air occupied by Orlo’s gentle voice.

_He would read good bedtime stories_ , you realised with a jolt. _Provide comfort to a crying child, or gentle tuition once the child was school age._

“We’ll have a family. _Our_ family.”

“ _Our family_ ,” you repeated breathlessly, trying out the words on your tongue. You liked how they sounded.

Orlo laughed suddenly, pure delight filling his features in a way you had never seen before, and you laughed with him. Finally, on the same page, you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. A fondness for the life inside of you.

The Count cleared his throat, pulling your attention to him, one hand’s fingers weaved between your own. His palms were sweating.

“Since I am already on my knees… fuck, I should have said this a long time ago. Um, please, would you marry me?”


End file.
